


All the Good we've Done

by thievinghippo



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-14 17:53:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5752717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stories, prompt fics and drabbles involving Bobbi Payne, a 39 year old former JAG lawyer. Nick Valentine/Sole Survivor will be the focus, but others will show up occasionally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unbind Me

Nick’s never understood women’s fashion. 

There are memories from the original Nick, trailing Jenny around a dress shop like a little lost puppy, holding her purse while she decided on outfits to try. And then once her arms were full of dresses, she’d go to the dressing room, while Nick sat in a chair, legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. Then the endless discussions of which looked better, which fit better, and more often than not, Jenny decided not to buy any of them. 

Waste of time, if you ask him. 

And then there’s Bobbi, here. She’s doesn’t seem to have much time for clothes, wearing that damn Silver Shroud costume over a tuxedo most of the time. Nick’s not too proud to admit the dame looks sharp in a tuxedo. But he keeps those thoughts to himself. No chance a good looking gal with the weight of the world on her shoulders would ever look twice at an old, broken down private eye. 

So he was surprised when she wanted to stop at a dress shop as they walked through Lexington. They had nowhere pressing to be, so Nick couldn’t see the harm. The shop was pretty picked clean, but he watched as Bobbi picked up socks, some undergarments, and t-shirts. Practical things, just like her. 

When she went to try some of the clothes on in the back, Nick kept scavving, looking for anything of value. Clothes are always needed in the Commonwealth. And enough settlements are depending on her now that any extras she can bring in, would be welcome, he’s sure. 

Just when he’s found a pile of children’s clothes - jackpot! - there’s a sound of a fist punching a wall. His hand lingers over his pistol, just in case, and he walks to the back towards the heavy curtains. 

“Nick?”

“That you, Bobbi?” he asks. “I hope the wall had it coming.” 

There’s no response to his joke, so he waits. He’s good at that, waiting. Mark of a good detective, in his humble opinion. 

“Can you come in, please?” she asks quietly.

Consider his curiosity piqued. Good thing he’s not a cat. Nick pushes back the curtains to see Bobbi not in a t-shirt or any of the clothes she brought in there. Instead, she’s wearing an honest to goodness ball gown. The type that goes all the way to the floor and has more design than sense. It’s a royal blue color, which look beautiful against the bronze of her skin. Strapless, and Nick almost wants to look away, so she can’t catch him staring at her chest.

He’s wondered for a while now, if her freckles went all the way down, and from the looks of it, they did. 

“Please don’t laugh,” she says, turning her back to him, to face the wall length mirror. “I know it’s silly, and far too young for me, but it was just hanging there, and it’s been so long since I’ve worn something pretty…” 

He meets her eyes through the mirror. “I’d never laugh at you, you know that. Now with you, is a different story.”

Nick tries not to feel too pleased when she smiles, a real smile, showing her white teeth. 

“Well, let’s laugh it up, I suppose,” Bobbi says. “The zipper is stuck. I can’t get out of this thing.” 

“And here you had me convinced you were the lockpicking expert,” Nick says. He takes a step closer to her and raises his hands. “May I?”

She nods, and Nick pauses. He’ll need both hands for this, and he’s never touched her with his metal hand before. She’ll flinch at the touch of cool metal on her skin, of course she will. Who wouldn’t? 

To distract her (and himself, to be perfectly honest), he says, “That’s a hell of a scar on your shoulder.” 

“Is it bad?” she asks, looking over her shoulder. “That’s from that Deathclaw in Concord I told you about. I’ve never actually seen what it looks like.”

It’s now or never, he decides, placing his metal hand on her shoulder, and waits for the reminder that she’s human and he’s a synth. 

And nothing happens. She doesn’t move one inch. She doesn’t flinch or make any sort of comment. So Nick gets to work, trying to ignore the way his circulation seems to be speeding up slightly. 

It takes almost a minute, but eventually he wins out over the zipper. “Another one for the books,” he says, unzipping the dress slightly. 

“Thank you,” Bobbi says, turning around to face him, holding up the dress with one hand as she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, a move Nick is finding more and more enduring every day. “I’ll be out in a minute.” 

Nick touches the brim of his fedora with one finger. “Any time.” He’s not sure where the sudden burst of courage comes from, but that’s not going to stop him. “And partner?” She lifts up her chin, looking him in the eye. “You look stunning in that dress.” 

Then Nick slips out of the dressing room before she has a chance to even react.


	2. Drink Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was 'drink me' - characters drinking, alone or with each other

It really gets his goat, how people don’t seem to take a second glance at his girl. 

Maybe it’s the crow’s nest around her eyes, or the scattering of grey in her hair, that give off a vibe of distinguished elder instead of the most beautiful woman Nick’s ever had the good fortune to look at. 

Or maybe they know who she is, and what she’s accomplished in the year since she marched bleary-eyed out of Vault 111, with a one-woman crusade to find her son. Would intimidate most people, he thinks. 

Whatever the reason, she sits at the bar of Third Rail nursing a drink by herself.

Nick was supposed to meet her here fifteen minutes ago, but got held up by a grateful former client. While it’s always nice to be appreciated, he couldn’t help but think he’d rather be appreciated by Bobbi a little bit more. 

Nick straightens his tie and takes a breath he doesn’t actually need. But the move calms him, enough so he’s ready to join Bobbi at the bar. 

“So,” he says, leaning his forearm on the counter of the bar, slightly invading her personal space, “come here often?”

She laughs, just like he hoped she would. Heady sound, her laugh. 

She looks at him expectantly, but Nick can’t seem to make himself move, not a damn inch. If he was human, he wouldn’t hesitate in giving his gal a kiss hello. But he’s not. 

What’s more, he’s still trying to wrap his head around whatever it is they are to each other. They’ve kissed a few times now, in private, leaving his mind spinning and if he actually thought it possible, his knees weak. 

Kissing in public is a whole different story. That’s letting the world know that this amazing woman’s chosen a synth, of all things. He’s not ready to do that to her. Not when he’s still sure that any minute she might change her mind. 

Though Bobbi seems to have different ideas, leaning forward and gently pressing her lips against his own. 

And look at that. The world didn’t end. He’ll have to remember that. 

“So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” Bobbi asks with a sly smile. 

“Heard the coolant is good,” Nick says, settling in the seat next to her. She’s wearing the tuxedo she favors, but instead of being all buttoned up, there’s no bow tie, and first few buttons are undone. She’s absolutely gorgeous. “What are you drinking?” 

“Whiskey, neat,” she says, taking a sip. 

“Woman after my own heart,” Nick says. The original Nick was a whiskey man, and he has memories of the taste in his head, and the headache that usually accompanied it the following morning.  

He motions to the bartender and quickly asks for a second whiskey. “But you don’t drink,” Bobbi says, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. 

“But you do,” Nick says, picking up her glass, which is half empty. “Figured I’d get you a head start on a refill.” 

Bobbi takes the glass back from him, and Nick swears he doesn’t imagine how their fingers linger together. “My hero.

And the way she smiles at him has him almost believing. 


	3. Value Me

“Stand up on that coffee table, will ya?” **  
**

Bobbi shakes off the instinct to ask ‘why?’ knowing full well Nick wouldn’t have said anything unless he had a good reason. Biting back the question on her tongue, she instead takes Nick’s offered hand and climbs up onto the coffee table.

She holds his hand a little longer than necessary, trying to catalog the differences between his hand and a human’s. Nate’s hand might have been a little warmer, but Nick’s is sturdier and smoother. She’s not sure what that means. Not yet.

Nick kneels down in front of her, grabbing the satchel with basic supplies she always carries. Out comes a small sewing kit, and now Bobbi is _really_ curious, but says nothing.

“You tripped,” Nick says, putting a needle between his lips while he starts pinning the leg of her trousers. “Don’t think I didn’t catch that during our last fight.”

Bobbi’s hands go to her waist, to the thin rope she used as a belt. He’s right, she did trip on the hem of her trouser leg during the fight when the rope loosened slightly. But beggars can’t be choosers, and with humans smaller than ever thanks to poor nutrition and radiation, Bobbi wears any pair that fits her in the waist and hips.

To think Nick noticed something small like that… “Thanks,” she says softly, looking down at him.

Nick places his metal hand on her ankle and meets her gaze. “Nothing to it,” he says finally. “Can’t have the best partner I’ve ever had fall down on the job, can I? What if I need you to rescue me again?”

She pushes her glasses up on the bridge of her nose and smiles. “I’ll always be your knight in shining armor,” she says, trying to put a bit of teasing into her voice.

“Counting on it,” Nick says, tipping his hat with his good hand. “Now let’s get you fixed up.”


End file.
